


And We'll Be A Family

by Moosie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo is older, Domestic Family, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fili and Kili are older, Frodo is young, Gen, I messed with timelines a little, M/M, Post BotFA, Thorin is older, it's fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosie/pseuds/Moosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once he saw who was at the door Bilbo stopped and stared.</p>
<p>And stared.</p>
<p>And stared.</p>
<p>And stared.</p>
<p>“So the rumors are true then.”</p>
<p>Thorin Oakenshield stood before Bilbo, a good portion of his dark hair now white, much like Bilbo’s own. He felt his headache come back to him full force, just before he hit the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We'll Be A Family

**Author's Note:**

> I love domestic Durins. They're so fun to write!
> 
> Un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out as well as any awkward sentences!

Fíli and Kíli were too young to have royal duties thrust upon them so early in their young lives. They had nearly lost their lives in the Battle of the Five Armies, most certainly would have had Bilbo not intervened. What would have been a fatal wound to either brother (who were defending their already wounded uncle) was only a minor wound to Bilbo, who had then saved them from the Orcs bearing down upon them. It hadn’t been easy and he had come away with more scars than intended (never mind the fact he never actually _meant_ to get any scars), but they had survived.

Bilbo had stayed with the Durins for maybe a month before his opportunity to enact his plan arose. When the news came to Bilbo that Thorin most likely would _not_ survive his more egregious injuries, he staged a large, seemingly accidental, fire. Mostly harmless to the Dwarves and Elven healers due to the fact that he’d had it happen in Fíli and Kíli’s tent, but enough to get the point he was trying to make across. He’d given the Durin boys a draught to put them to sleep, and then he’d had a few of the Elves, the ones privy to his plans, strap them to ponies and cover them up before sending them down the road to Gandalf, who was waiting with two Eagles.

From there, he’d set the tent alight and stowed away out the back, leaving two decoys (courtesy of Gandalf) behind in his wake to make sure people actually believed that the crown princes were dead, burned alive in the blaze. He himself would stay only long enough to say his good byes, and then he would be off. It hurt to do it, but it was the only way he knew they could escape. By the time people noticed that the tent itself was starting to burn, Bilbo would already have bid them farewell, the insides of the tent torched, the two Durin boys stolen away by their burglar just as he’d stolen the Arkenstone.

No matter what anyone told him, he would always believe it the right thing to do, and when he got the chance he would apologize to the boys’ mother. But they had already seen too much death and bloodshed in their short lives, and so Bilbo would not allow them to see anymore. Though, none of them had any idea their fearless leader was alive, as no word was sent to tell them otherwise. When the boys talked or asked about Thorin upon waking, Bilbo remained tight-lipped, and they took it as him not wanting to talk about the loss of his intended.

Gandalf helped in persuading them that it was a wiser choice to stay in the Shire with Bilbo than it was to go back to Erebor. They were not ready to take on the duties of the throne, nor did they have the experience to rule over the Dwarven people. Yes, Gandalf had said, it was better for them to stay with Bilbo. In the end they had both agreed and, though _extremely_ reluctantly (with emphasis on the word ‘extremely’ because they had fought tooth and nail with Bilbo on the idea) they had both cut their hair to a shorter length. Fíli had even snipped a little off his beard braids, figuring if they had to become inconspicuous they needed to make doubly sure wandering Dwarves didn’t recognize them.

The entire arrangement worked for twenty long and wonderful years, even when Bilbo adopted young Frodo. All up until the King Under the Mountain himself appeared in the Shire to ask for Bilbo’s forgiveness. It simply went downhill from there.

It had started when Bilbo woke up. He had woken up with the worst headache, though from what Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure. His head merely throbbed painfully, and hearing Frodo already up and running around, screaming about adventures (just like _he_ had when he was sixteen), made him groan and sit up. From the sound of the footsteps running after him, it had to have been Kíli trying to chase the young Hobbit tween down to possibly get him to do his chores (and wasn’t _that_ something? Bilbo had managed to get _Kíli_ of all people to remember to do his chores, and try to get young Frodo to do the same). The pounding of feet against the floor corresponded with the throbbing in Bilbo’s skull, and he finally got up from his comfortable bed.

“Uncle! Frodo’s missed his bath!”

“I don’t smell _that_ bad; I’m fine for another day!”

“Uncle!”

Bilbo let out a long suffering sigh but managed a fond smile that was more of a grimace at his nephews’ (and he had started to consider Fíli and Kíli as _his_ nephews back during the quest; back when he and Thorin were supposed to get—) shouting. He stood and wobbled a bit on his feet before walking toward his bedroom door, having pulled on his dressing gown.

Bilbo opened the door to find Frodo trying to wiggle out of his cousin’s grasp, but Kíli held tight to the Hobbit tween. He picked Frodo up with ease and smiled when he spotted Bilbo.

“Good morning, Uncle!” he chimed.

“Morning…” Frodo grumbled, slumping in Kíli’s hold. Kíli didn’t slacken his grip though, oh no. He was familiar with this tactic, and the moment he loosened his grip Frodo would thrash and get free.

“Where is Fíli?” was Bilbo’s question instead of a reply, though he frowned and said a “good morning” of his own out of sheer habit.

“In the gardens,” the two responded simultaneously. Ah, of course.

In the time since Fíli’s wounds had healed, he had taken to gardening, shocking both his brother and Bilbo. When Bilbo had asked why he had chosen to start gardening, he’d stated that it was a better alternative to sparring which, while Fíli and Kíli could still do so with each other, wasn’t the same without the others jarring them on with bets. Kíli had agreed, and took up metal-working at the local forge instead. While he wasn’t forging swords and daggers, he did well with making and mending pots and pans. Bilbo was just glad that they had both found hobbies to occupy them.

“Are you alright, Uncle?” Frodo asked, having noticed the pained look on Bilbo’s face. Kíli noticed this as well, and a concerned look passed over his brow.

“Should I ask Fee to mix you something?” he asked.

“I’ll do it!” Frodo had felt Kíli’s hold loosen and had broken free suddenly, running out the back door of Bag End into the garden where Bilbo heard Fíli shout about Frodo running through his Hydrangea and Jasmine beds. Kíli darted behind him, planning to grab him and drag him back inside until Frodo finally bathed.

Bilbo groaned as he heard all of his nephews shouting, and thunked his head against his bedroom door frame.

The afternoon passed without much event. Eventually Kíli forced Frodo to take a bath, leaving the boy clean and slightly disgruntled that the layer of dirt he’d accumulated was gone. Fíli made ginger tea for Bilbo’s headache, and while it got better, it didn’t completely go away. So, he allowed Fíli and Kíli to take Frodo to see his friends in the market place instead of himself, a pouch of gold each between them. Meaning no one but Bilbo was home come the evening when there was a knock at the round door.

“Coming, coming…” Bilbo huffed as he headed towards the door. He didn’t even peek out the window before pulling it open.

“Hello, what can—”

Once he saw who was at the door Bilbo stopped and stared.

And stared.

And stared.

And stared.

“So the rumors are true then.”

Thorin Oakenshield stood before Bilbo, a good portion of his dark hair now white, much like Bilbo’s own. He felt his headache come back to him full force, just before he hit the floor.

\-----

When Bilbo came to it was to hushed voices. He blinked his eyes open and saw, just above him, Frodo looking back and forth between two people worriedly. He glanced down at Bilbo once and started at seeing his Uncle’s eyes open. Bilbo managed a small smile as Frodo helped him sit up, a soft cry of “uncle” leaving the tween’s lips. This made the talking stop, and everyone who was, apparently, within Bag End turned to the proprietor.

In the ensuing silence, Bilbo found out that the ones that had been speaking were Thorin and Fíli, though for what reason Bilbo had yet to actually discern. He had Kíli bring him a(nother) cup of ginger tea. Once he felt his head clearing, he looked up at Thorin.

“So my eyes do not deceive me then,” he hummed.

“As my own do not deceive me,” Thorin replied. His brow was surprisingly smooth for a king in his old age, and Bilbo thought he looked just as handsome as he had twenty years ago.

“I think,” Bilbo started, looking around at the faces of all the people he adored—all the people he’d grown to actually _love_ —watching him, “we are all owed a bit of an explanation.”

“Indeed, I agree,” Thorin rose a questioning eyebrow, and Bilbo figured he meant about Fíli and Kíli being alive. Obviously the others would have told him that they had perished in a fire caused by a candle being left much too close to the tent’s fabric. He would have to set the record straight for Thorin.

It also meant that Bilbo had to tell Fíli and Kíli the truth of the matter as well.

With a long sigh that was very much indicative of his old age, Bilbo told Thorin of what had happened after the others had thought he would not live.

In turn, Thorin had explained how he had survived, through sheer will and the thought of Bilbo possibly being there when he awoke, and had overcome his injuries. He had been heart broken when he found the Hobbit not by his side, and triply so when he heard of his nephews’ ‘deaths’. In the end, he had decided that, though he would rule Erebor for a time, he would one day give up his crown and travel to the Shire to see Bilbo himself.

Fíli and Kíli listened with patient ears while Frodo nodded off on his Uncle’s shoulder. In twenty years, they had matured quite a bit, though they had not once lost their mischievous and playful sparks. They didn’t jump to immediate brash conclusions like they would have in their younger years, though.

“Uncle,” and when Kíli said this both Thorin and Bilbo looked upon him, but the fact that he was gazing at Thorin told them which Uncle he was referring to, “why had you not written? How come you had not told us you were alive after all this time?”

“Well,” Thorin cleared his throat, “being a king left almost no time to myself. I spent what little I could get either sleeping or eating you see.”

“Ah,” Fíli nodded his understanding.

“Boys—could you put Frodo to bed?” Bilbo asked, and he gave Fíli and Kíli a look that requested they not argue.

The Dwarven lads did as told, gathering their younger cousin and taking him to his bedroom. Frodo hardly stirred; when the tween fell asleep it took all but a natural disaster to awaken him.

Bilbo waited until they were out of earshot before he turned to Thorin, who looked on at him with what seemed to be reverence in his eyes. Bilbo cleared his throat and Thorin snapped from his reverie, sitting a little straighter. Bilbo smiled at him, his eyes twinkling in a way they hadn’t since the quest to Erebor. Thorin had missed the look if he was perfectly honest with himself.

“You are as lovely as back then,” he murmured now, reaching a hand up to gently caress Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo hummed, leaning into the touch a bit, and brought his own hand up to place over Thorin’s.

“As are you,” he said. Thorin didn’t seem to believe the same, but didn’t protest his Hobbit’s words.

“There is another reason I came, aside from seeing you,” he finally sighed. Bilbo frowned as that heavy look passed over Thorin’s face, and Bilbo saw the younger Thorin once again, just briefly.

“Yes? What is it?”

Thorin paused, the look on his face calculating, and then he removed his hand from Bilbo’s cheek and grasped Bilbo’s own smaller one.

“I said some very, very, terrible things to you while I was mad with gold sickness. I did awful things as well. I wanted to—to ask your forgiveness of me. I had no right to treat you, as my intended, in such a way,” Thorin explained. Bilbo looked a little startled, surprised to hear the words.

“You silly Dwarf,” he laughed suddenly. He twined his fingers with Thorin’s, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I forgive you! I forgave you years ago.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to be surprised. “Really? Truly? Even after all I said and did?”

Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes in a good natured way. It really was amazing how fond of his Dwarves he had grown, to put up with their madness as he did.

“Yes, really, and truly. I thought you dead for a long time, and had come to terms with it too,” Bilbo shook his head, “I could not bring myself to be angry with you because I loved you, and I see you in Fíli and Kíli every day.” He paused with a sigh. “I still love you.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo for a bit, before he brought their entwined hands up to his lips and kissed the back of Bilbo’s. Bilbo smiled an amused little smile at the gesture, an eyebrow raised.

“I still love you as well. It would greatly please me if…” Thorin trailed off here, glancing up at Bilbo through his lashes.

“If…?” Bilbo urged on.

“If I may stay here with you, for the rest of our days.”

Bilbo was prepared to answer when he heard excited whispers of “say yes!” coming from the hallway. His smile widened and his eyes sparkled as he glanced back to where he knew Fíli and Kíli to be standing and waiting with baited breath for him to reply to their uncle’s question. Thorin seemed to notice as well, and a fond look passed over his features as a deep chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“Yes, you oaf,” Bilbo leaned over and kissed Thorin’s chin. Thorin was shocked by the simple action, even more so when Bilbo gently bumped their foreheads together; it had been a thing between them, an act Thorin had introduced Bilbo to after a run in with the enemy to show the Hobbit that he was alright. Bilbo had continued doing it even after the fact.

The slight cheering in the hallway didn’t go unnoticed and Bilbo finally laughed and called the boys over. The two Dwarven lads—men, Bilbo should actually start saying but probably never would—bounded over in excitement, crowding onto the couch and squishing Bilbo and Thorin even further together. They began chattering in excitement about how the daily routine would change and about how Frodo would finally have a father figure to make him do his chores or bathe when told to.

How they would be a family.

The thought itself was comforting and warmed both Hobbit and Dwarf to their cores. Bilbo and Thorin listened to their nephews with affectionate smiles on their faces, their hands still held tightly together between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments telling my what you thought, I love hearing opinions and constructive criticism.


End file.
